Fast Break (Part 5)
The buzzer sounds and the final score blinks red: Elks 102, Loggers 51.
Fans clap and cheer, and when the Elks run off the floor after the ceremonial handshakes with the nonchalant Loggers, the writer notices they all sneakingly half salute the mural as they dash out of the gym and into their musty locker room. The coach does the same! He’s probably a secret Fifth Columnist socialist and the fiery union rep for the teacher’s union. The school board doesn’t fire him because he keeps winning state titles and gives the dying town something to live for every winter and spring. The writer wonders: how in the hell did this guy ever end up in this town? Who is he? The writer desperately wants to know because he intuits that the answer might unlock deeper insights. If the writer decides to relocate to the town and write a non fiction book about the homeless or a fairy tale novel about the socialist coach and his fast break offense, he might discover there are more people like the coach living in rural Oregon than most people can ever imagine, and in the coming years, there might a lot more.
The writer stands up from the bleachers and his body shakes with pain. He’ll have to walk a couple miles to loosen up. Oh well, it’s a fine winter evening and he can meander around the downtown of four blocks, maybe get a beer at the reactionary dive bar, Turkey’s, then take the bridge that crosses the river. He can stop on the bridge and listen to the Friday night shenanigans acted out by the residents of the homeless encampment. Is Friday night different for them? Is there such a concept of a weekend in their lives?
Maybe the writer’s fast break metaphor will collapse or simply whither away. Or maybe, if he can promulgate it to the people, (by any means necessary) it could inspire one or several or a thousand people to run the offense in the pursuit of a solution for the homeless crisis. Perhaps not the ultimate state-wide solution, or even in the big city, but at least one in a given area, down by a river for example, where they’re playing foos ball and darts and being turned into the steaming compost of 21st century star spangled banner capitalism.
The writer sure would love the coach to take up that responsibility. He’s won enough state championships, trained enough closet socialists, and taught enough lessons about Walden. He may not know it, but he’s ready for something bigger, much bigger, to execute the perfect fast breaks for people who need to start scoring easy but hard earned buckets, then get their ass back up the floor, defend. That’s part of fast break basketball, too. Defense.